


Lays here my hope

by txilar



Series: Yearning [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Past Abuse, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txilar/pseuds/txilar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>When the housekeeper told him about the children, his first thought was ‘This should be an easy service. How difficult can children be?’</i>”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lays here my hope

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [me-ya-ri](http://me-ya-ri.livejournal.com/) for the [orig-slavefic](http://orig-slavefic.livejournal.com/) Prompt Festival. My prompt: “An adult slave is sold into a household with small children. He's never dealt with children before but the kids love him.”
> 
> Warnings: As this is slavefic, this story references dub-con, non-con, and abuse, but only in passing and rather obliquely.

_Deep as the clear unsounded sea_  
And sweet as life or death can be  
Lays here my hope, my heart, and me  
-Swinburne

“Why do you have a bruise on your shoulder?”

Belemi looked up from his book. Len’s long dark hair was littered with bits of flowers and grass and she clutched a small cloth doll to her chest. She was frowning. The young mistress was eight and demanding, to say the least. Her question wouldn’t be easily shrugged off.

“Did you fall? Because I fell. You know the big rocks?” Her arms moved as she spoke, pointing and waving, mimicking her tale. “I was running, well, we were all running and I didn’t see it and I just fell right over them and I got a big bruise on my arm. It hurt when I moved it and the nurse had to put it in a sling.”

She was the eldest of the trio he watched over. Civia and Malin stood wide-eyed behind her. The baby was in her cribroom and the older children were studying with their tutors. There was an older son, but he was in the city, studying with a master luthier. Len, Civia, and Malin were his, though unofficially.

Upon arrival to his Master’s land, he’d thought they were his charges. He’d been completely mistaken in that, but now, they followed him around like puppies and everyone at the villa knew if they needed to find the children, they need only look for Belemi--and vice versa. His personal trio of admirers--and, technically, his overseers in his Master’s absence.

“Belemi?” Her voice rose in pitch as she whined. “Why do you have bruises? There’s one on your back too. You don’t talk much. Why don’t you talk much?”

“Is it a secret?” He turned to look at Civia, who was now leaning on his leg. Her voice as low, almost like a whisper and she lisped on top of that. Civia was his favourite, he couldn’t lie. Where Len was a precocious, loud, demanding child and Malin was a boy fixated on swords and armies, Civia was an intense little slip that missed nothing. He felt a kinship with her quiet patience.

“Were you fighting? Did somebody beat you up?” Malin looked confused. He often was, poor thing. The girls were too quick for him. Mostly, Malin did their bidding at Len’s command. The trio were never apart for long, save for their lessons.

He adored them, he really did, but this was too much. Belemi stood and yanked his tunic back on to cover his upper body. So much for relaxing in the sun and enjoying the peace and quiet. Master was away and his cat did not want to play, for a change.

“No one is beating me up. And I did not fall.” He picked up his book--so much for reading.

“Then why are you bruised?” Len was getting adamant. He recognised the set to her little jaw and the way her eyebrows rose and drew together. She took much after her father, but he couldn’t exactly tell her that her father was to blame.

It had certainly been worth it, but he couldn’t share that either.

“I was... working. Practicing. Aren’t you supposed to be with your tutor?” He took off toward the house. Perhaps he could find their tutor.

“Master Bierdin went to the city for new books. We have two whole days without lessons!” Len managed to sound triumphant, wondrous, and diabolical all at once.

“Will you beat up Jeyo? He stole my wagon and a horse.” Jeyo was the gardener’s son and he was always stealing Malin’s toys.

Belemi was heading back toward the house, but they were following him. In fact--he turned to look behind them--yes, the dogs were following as well. He sighed. Two whole days without lessons? That meant the next two days were not his own.

“Will you take us to the lake? I have a fishing rod!”

As usual, his free time became their playtime. They went to the lake. He could ponder life while they scared the fish.

A small pier jutted out into the lake; small buildings on either side gave shade and shelter. Belemi stretched out on a low bench and pondered his good luck while the Len tried to fish and Civia and Malin played on the beach. He should count his blessings. As chores went, a day spent relaxing and fishing wasn’t half bad. He was free to roam and wander as he liked, ate well and whenever he wanted, and often sat in on the children’s lessons, imagining what it might have been like to be a student himself.

Irritated at his inability to concentrate, he put his book aside and thought about taking a nap. Watching the children frolic, he started to think of his own childhood. Since he hadn’t had much of one, his thoughts turned to his Master instead.

 

:: :: ::

 

Lord Davia was away the day Belemi was delivered.

He would later learn that Lord Davia was away a lot. A good thing, as it gave him unheard of freedom, but he spent his first two weeks with no guidance and no clue what was to happen. Left on his own with only a housekeeper to guide him, he’d been thoroughly confused about his reasons for being in the Davia household. The housekeeper was terribly nervous around him, so he went out of his way to seem docile, which, well, he really was, but she made him nervous, so in the end they were both nervous.

“Oh, you’re the--oh, my, yes, of course. Well, Lord Sir had to visit the city so we’ll just get you settled in. Have you met the children? No? We’ll do that in a few days. He won’t be back for, oh, some time, he had an urgent call to, well, never mind that, then. You--we--let’s go see your room, shall we?”

His room?

And sure enough, she brought him to a room and announced it was his. Not only was it larger than any space he’d ever imagined he’d call his own and private and _his_ , it was in the main house, not with the servants and not with the master. It was all his. His alone.

Scoil told him he was going to be a bedslave.

“Yer gonna be a bedpussy for some fat old lord!” Scoil was his last master’s overseer and a fellow northerner. Because of this connection, he liked to heap shame on Belemi.

“Ya don’t know who ya are, kid. No way of respecting elders or even praying to the right gods.”

Family was strong in the north. Your people defined you. They defined your gods. Without family, you had no gods. Belemi had neither. He was an outcast from his birth and his adoptive people, so he had no gods. No one to give him guidance or hope.

But he was obedient. He did what he was told. He was quiet, respectful, and kept his thoughts from showing on his face.

He was a good slave, but he didn’t want to be a bedslave again. His first service had been as a bedslave to young woman married to a fat, old lord herself. They kept him long enough to get her with child, and then he was returned to Master Eddagard, who already had another master lined up, for new training. Reading and writing and a handsome face did him little good if he couldn’t seduce or please a man, so Master taught him how to do both, and he went to serve the wealthy merchant Ardaen Konuz who kept him for three years.

Ardaen didn’t buy Belemi to serve as a bedslave, but to fight for entertainment. It wasn’t the sport crowds gathered for in the grand palisades. It wasn’t a showing of skill and mastery, but a fight altogether different: men drenched in oil wrestling to the catcalls of smaller, drunken crowds. The audiences at these fights were composed of wealthy commoners who traded the winners and losers like chess pieces--pieces they had stake in both monetarily and physically.

In Ardaen’s arena, he’d often been a bedslave for the highest bidder. No better than being in a brothel. Significantly worse, since he kept nothing of his earnings.

Thankfully, his third owner, Mistress Gaerdinwan, didn’t use him for a bedslave. She preferred to show him off. Occasionally he was offered as a prized gift to her noble friends, but for the most part Belemi played the part of untamed northerner. His role was that of an expensive pet.

Though stern, Gaerdy had been good to him, and fair. Sadly, she ran afoul of lenders. Belemi had been sent, along with her other servants, to an estate in the mountains and, save for the Scoil’s mocking, had been left much to his own until the king’s men came to take them. They were lucky they weren’t taken directly to the slave block and sold them off to the city’s brothels. Common rumours told of unlucky slaves taken in and sent off before their master could claim them.

Now Belemi belonged to the elusive Lord Davia.

After a brief tour of the house, Belemi’s spent his first day wandering the land of his new owner. It was suspiciously perfect. Outside the villa there was a grand pool surrounded by elaborate gardens and a grand pavilion. Nearby, workers were tending small but flourishing crops, and he saw a stable next to a running track. Beyond that was a large lake with a dock and boats for taking to the waves, probably fishing too. He couldn’t even see the other side of the lake, only haze and the mountains to the south. The servant’s quarters were nicer than any he’d spent time in before. He was disturbed by the pristine perfection of the property. Would secrets soon spoil it?

When the housekeeper told him about the children, his first thought was ‘This should be an easy service. How difficult can children be?’

 

:: :: ::

 

Belemi woke early on his first morning in Lord Davia’s service. It was habit, but he’d slept well on the nice mattress--nicer than anything he’d slept on in ages--and for the first in many nights, his sleep had been untroubled. The week before arriving, he’d been sleeping on a pile of itchy straw in a holding cell.

Belemi looked around and took stock of the room. Bright sunshine filtered in through silken drapes dressing large windows. Heavy, solid furniture filled the room. Not only a bed, but a tall wardrobe, a dressing table, and, of all things, a desk. Like he had someone to write letters to. A large red and black carpet covered dark wood floors. It looked Koravian, which, for some reason surprised him.

He felt noble. Regal, like he could order someone to attend to him.

The children must be nearby. He wasn’t sure if would be their bodyguard or if he was expected to tutor them. His understanding of maths was firm, though probably outdated. He hadn’t been schooled since his time with Eddagard. He knew plants and a few trees, but not enough to teach someone. Couldn’t cook, but he could cut vegetables. War history was the only sort of history he was interested in. That and Koravian mythology, though their religion was mostly filled with tales of war.

He made his way to the kitchen was and ate a filling breakfast under the cook’s watchful eye.

“You’re northern folk, aren’t ya?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He knew it was smart to remain on good terms with the kitchen servants. They’d see him fed when no one else would. Making friends now might serve him best if he didn’t get the chance later. She smiled and nodded, pointing at him with her wooden spoon.

“The hair made me think so. And your size. Don’t see many of you outside the capital. Few enough there. My mam used to tell me that her good father was from a northern brood. Ran away from ‘em to join the Tilban army, but met her good mother instead.”

“I was sold to a Tilban slaver before I was born.” He made a slight shrug. “Someone wanted a redhead in his collection.”

“Looking after the Lord, then, are ya?”

“The children. Mora said I’ll meet them tomorrow.”

“Ah. They’re a handful. Have Gaevert show you baths. Scrub all that city dust off ya. Feel like a new man in your new place.”

Shortly thereafter some of the other staff joined them for first meal. Everyone was friendly. He assumed they were holding back. There was no way he could waltz in and claim such a nice room in the master’s house without making enemies.

He tried to learn something about Lord Davia--about his master, but could learn nothing more than ‘Oh, he’s a good man’ and ‘Never a better, Lord.’ ‘Do right for him and he’ll do right by you.’

It couldn’t be that easy.

 

:: :: ::

 

On his second morning in his new home, he opened his eyes to the silent scrutiny of three children. Two resting their chins on the mattress and one hovering above them with her arms over their shoulders, all watching him intently.

“You’re the Davia children?”

The boy began a slow nod before the tall girl tapped his shoulder.

“We know you’re here for daddy.” She paused and Belemi watched as she seemed to gather herself. “But we don’t know if we like you yet.” She crossed her arms across her chest. What a tiny--and imperious mistress she would be. Her mother had either taught her well or had her hands full.

“I like him,” whispered the face nearest him.

“We don’t know him, Civia!” she snapped. Civia just grinned at him. “And he’s a northerner,” the taller girl said. The way she said it clearly meant she had no idea what that meant, but knew it was supposed to mean something important.

Belemi sat up and the children drew back. He wore only loose linen drawers, so he kept his blanket close, narrowed his eyes and leaned down to stare at them.

“That’s true. You don’t know me. My name is Belemi. I haven’t known very many children. In the north, we eat them. Who are the three of you?” The whispering child giggled.

“I’m Lenali. You can’t _eat_ us,” she said pointedly. She was clearly the eldest of the trio. “This is Civiashli and Malindar. Nagali and Kezli are our sisters, but they’re with mum learning to be ladies. Sevidar is our baby brother, and Ezulindar is our big brother, but he’s not here. He’s studying with a Master.” Had she been any taller, she’d have been looking down her nose at him.

“Shall I tell you a story?” He truly was perplexed. What was he to do with them?

Civia giggled. “He’s funny, Len.” Her lisp charmed him and he winked at her. She giggled more, ignoring Len’s glare, and she and Malindar climbed onto the bed while Len explored the room.

“Daddy isn’t here, so I get to tell you what to do.”

Belemi nodded. Nothing new there, though he could say she was his youngest mistress yet. “Of course you do, Mistress. But I should be attired in your presence. May I dress?”

“Maybe.”

Now, it wasn’t that Belemi didn’t take his duties, or his new Mistress seriously, but it was truly difficult to take orders from a precocious eight year old. Especially sitting in bed barely dressed. He kept his patience in check and waited.

“We want breakfast. You bring it to us.” She looked at him expectantly for a moment, then added, “But you can get dressed first.”

They left and he dressed quickly--he had only his clothing from yesterday. At least he was clean, even if they were road worn. Darva had brought him the drawers to sleep in, and said more would come when the laundry was collected.

After running his hands through his hair, he opened the door--gods above granting him his own room with a door--and the three children fell into the room and scrambled toward his bed.

He opened his mouth to say something, but caught himself. He’d best be careful. Bowing his head respectfully--who knew what they would report back?--he played his role.

“What would you like for breakfast, master and mistresses?”

“Biscuits! Oh and apples,” said Len before looking to the others for their input.

“I want honey,” added Malindar.

“Sausages!” Civia clapped her hands.

And just like that, Belemi Morovna, fearsome northerner, became a servant to three children.

 

:: :: ::

 

For nearly a month, he had nothing to offer the children, and no one to tell what he _should_ offer. He kept track of them, served them breakfast in _his_ bed every morning, tried to rein in Len--even the servants deferred to her--and wondered when he would meet his true master.

Wondered if he’d pass whatever this test was.

The children were rarely out of his sight unless they were with their tutor. He was glad they had a tutor. Though his lower class combat skills and sketchy drinking songs entertained them, he was quite sure the Lord would not be impressed.

So he took it upon himself to be their guardian. Though who would dare to bother the children on the estate, he had no idea, but it didn’t matter. The children wanted him present wherever they were, whether learning, dining, or playing. Civia held his hand everywhere they went. Malindar, who insisted he be called Malin, also insisted Belemi play soldier with him. “I’m going to be a general in the army!” he said, “and I have to have a proper Tilban name.”

Whatever that meant. Belemi would be perfectly happy with a proper barbarian name. What would be a proper Beyyashi name? He had no idea. Malin said he couldn’t have a barbarian name.

Belemi was not very good at playing soldier and Malin, as well as Len, pointed this out frequently.

As it happened, they were playing soldier when Lord Davia returned. After he failed to defend properly, Malin explained a charge by charging at him.

“You do it like this!” He yelled, running at ‘this’ and completely taking Belemi by surrprise. While not a soldier by any means, Belemi was capable and quick from years of training--never mind exactly what he’d been doing, he fought hard. He was even-framed, easily twice Malin’s near-three feet. Not wanting to hurt Malin, Belemi ducked, and Malin only half caught him, but Civia joined in, grabbing his arm. Len jumped on his back, and that was that.

Belemi went down, Malin and Len yelling and Civia laughing. The attack quickly turned in his favour as he tickled whatever little arm or leg he could find.

Their squeals and screams attracted spectators and laughter. Belemi looked up to see half a dozen members of the household, a nice carriage, and a tall man in travelling dress.

“Children,” the man called out. The screaming stopped. And began again as they ran toward him.

“Daddy!”

“Papa!”

“That is not a toy, children. I paid very good money for him.”

At that, Belemi realised it was Lord--it was his master. He rolled up, not bothering to brush himself off, and found his knees. He was panting from both the tickle-exhaustion and sudden anxiety. He stared at the ground.

What did I do wrong?

He tried to think, tried to count out and assess his transgressions. He had no idea. He was with his charges, they were safe, if not composed like noble children should be, but they were safe and happy. Surely nothing could be wrong with that?

Belemi peeked through his hair, hoping it kept his gaze hidden. Lord Davia was a tall, well-dressed man. Of course he was well-dressed, he was a lord and clearly a very wealthy one. He wasn’t quite close enough for direct observation and wore loose-fitting travelling attire, so it was difficult to make much assessment, but he certainly wasn’t the fat lord Scoil had prophesied.

Lord Davia took off his hat to kneel with his children and Belemi forgot himself. He lifted his head to stare. The Lord’s long hair was white, right down to the tips. There was no way he was as old as the pale colour suggested, but...

What if he’s cursed? Belemi had heard that such bleached hair on the young was the sign of devilry, and though he didn’t quite believe in such tales, something about this did man give him pause.

Lord Davia looked up.

Belemi felt his eyes widen. He kept the lord’s gaze for a moment before realising that he was staring rudely. He bent his head down, gasping, and looked at his knees and the grass he was kneeling on. Lord Davia had been smiling. Even from here he could see the man’s dark features and piercing dark eyes which made the shock of brilliant hair even more startling. Belemi swallowed deeply. Perhaps it was devilry after all.

He felt Lord Davia approach.

“You must be worn out.” He voice wavered with amusement. “Children. He is mine. Don’t trouble him.”

“But we like him,” Len whined. Belemi glimpsed up to see Civia holding her father’s hand and nodding fiercely.

“I’m pleased to hear that. Now, let’s go inside and you can tell me what you’ve learned this while I was away.”

Belemi could hear the sounds of them rearranging, the children making noises like happy puppies, and their father wiping the grass from them. He heard them walk away talking. The children’s high, giddy voices bounced over their father’s low, warm voice, then there was only the silence of nature. He stared hard at the grass and tried not to feel, for the first time in his life, abandoned.

His chest was still heaving, his heart pounding.

How long do I stay here? Where do I go? Was that really my room? What if it was an error? It wasn’t my fault! Maybe I was hired to work the stables, or, no, not even that, the fields. I’ll burn working the fields all day. What if that running track wasn’t for horses, what if nobles in the countryside have their own entertainment and I’m put to fighting again?

He’d never been very good at it. He was lithe and quick, and tall, but when covered in oil and set upon by desperate men who had nearly half his weight over him, not to mention actual training, that only counted in his favour for so long. What if it was a mistake, what if the man he saw wasn’t even the lord he was serving and what if--

“Belemi, is it?”

Belemi nodded, too stricken to speak. His heart was pounding and he was breathing hard.

“You can look at me. It isn’t forbidden.”

Cautiously, he swallowed, trying to compose himself, and looked up. He couldn’t contain a shiver.

“S-sir.”

Lord Davia smiled. “Stand up, let me have a look at you.”

“H-here?” Nevertheless he stood. His hands went to his tunic and he started to lift it. Lord Davia came close and Belemi froze.

“The children must have run you ragged,” he said, brushing at the grass on Belemi’s shirt, then his knees. “I apologise. Len is... well, you’ve been here for a month, is it? Then you know how she is. I apologise that I wasn’t here to meet you. Business took me away. It happens, though not frequently, thank the gods. I hope you were well met and taken care of?” He pulled back to look at Belemi critically after dusting him of.

Belemi stared.

He might have spoken more, but all Belemi could hear was a dull roaring in his ears.

“Why don’t you turn for me, Belemi?”

Belemi turned without thinking, his body responding to the command without thought.

“That’s better. Why don’t we retire by the pool? I’ll have Vallen bring us wine. Come.” He dropped his hand on Belemi’s shoulder and they walked nearly side by side back to the house.

Belemi couldn’t think. His eyes were still wide and the sunlight was suddenly blinding.

Lord Davia guided him to a large reclining chair and moved to serve the wine Vallen brought them.

“Sir, I should, you should let me--I mean, you don’t, I mean, I have--” He broke off panting.

“Calm yourself. We’re just having a conversation. I’ll pour.” Lord Davia’s voice was warm and soothing.

Belemi nodded. He felt stupid and clumsy. Of course the Lord would pour. The Lord would do as he damned well pleased whether Belemi was supposed to do something or not. He’d do what he was told when he was told and he’d sit still until he was told to do anything other than sit still.

His hands were shaking. He had nearly twenty-three years, and had spent most of them serving or learning how to serve, so it wasn’t like this was new.

He took the drink Lord--no, his _Master_. He took the drink his _Master_ gave him. He’d never been given a drink by any master, nor had his trainers even suggested such might happen. He had no idea how to take the glass, so he held both hands up, wrapping them around the glass.

Lord--Master looked amused. “Have you never had wine?”

“I-I have, sir.”

“Good. Tell me about your previous masters.” Lord Davia stretched out beside him. He was no taller than Belemi, possibly shorter without his boots, and only slightly wider, but he was compelling to look at and seemed as if he’d draw the attention of an entire room. His presence had warmth and Belemi could feel his proximity.

It was easier to talk without Lord--Master looking at him but he was still nervous. Belemi took a gulp of wine and told his story as quickly and concisely as he could. “My mother was purchased for the hair I was promised to have, but her owner died so we were returned to the trader. He sent me for kitchen training when I was six. At twelve, I was sold to Master Eddagard. I had my first master at sixteen, but only for seed. I was returned to Master Eddagard who trained me for Master Ardaen. I served in his arena for three years, then Mistress Gaerdinvan bought me. After her financial troubles, I was sold to you, sir.”

Master remained as he was, but made a slow humming noise. “I have your history. You’re leaving out crucial details.” Lord--Belemi closed his eyes and bit his tongue hard. _Master_. Master Davia had a nice low voice. He did not want to hear it raised in anger.

“I apologise, Master. I didn’t wish to bore you with--”

“I’ll decide what’s boring. Please. Tell me about your time more intimately. Start with Mistress Gaerdinvan. I knew her, you know. I served on the committee that stripped her of her lands,” he said mildly.

“She liked to show me off.”

“That sounds like her. How did you serve her?” Master poured himself another glass of wine. Belemi itched to do the pouring himself.

“Uh, I--I, er, I was her co--er, her bedslave, sir. Master, I mean.” Gods save me, what is wrong with me?

Master gave a less than dignified snort. “I’m sorry, Belemi. Of course you were her bedslave. Did she make regular use of you? Loan you out, share you with her friends? _How_ , exactly, did you serve her”

“Oh. No, no sir. She didn’t--she preferred to show me off. Her tame northerner. I was, that is, she liked me to seem barbaric and frightening and as if only her touch could tame me, but she didn’t, she didn’t, um, like the act itself.”

“Did you enjoy your time with her?” He refilled his glass as he spoke. The wine shimmered ruby dark in the light.

“I did not dislike her, sir.” Belemi took another cautious sip. This wasn’t wine by his reckoning. It was thick and had a faint licorice taste at the end. It was sweet even as it burned down his throat.

“Do you enjoy serving a mistress better than a master?”

Belemi was stumped. However to answer that? He had liked Gaerdy well enough. She was kind and extravagant. He’d never had to fear punishment from her. She encouraged him to act wildly so she could ‘calm’ him. Occasionally, he was offered to her paramours, but save for one experience, that hadn’t been so bad. She had a way of taming men.

She indulged more in her female slaves than him, so he was quite content. In that manner, yes, serving her was far better than anyone else he’d served to date. Certainly better than his years at the arena.

“I was not unhappy in her service, but that had less to do with service and more to do with her light concern of me, sir. After the--the fighting, I was not--I was just happy to be left alone.”

At that, Master turned to look at him. He ducked his head and tried to look contrite, but Lord Davia didn’t look angry. He looked thoughtful, his gaze intense and searching.

“So your preference is for care and not for use?”

“You confuse me sir.” Belemi sipped at his wine as Lord Davia poured himself yet another glass. Was there any wine left? Belemi already felt lightheaded and he still had half a glass remaining.

Lord Davia sighed. “Given the chance, Belemi, whom would you fuck? A man or a woman?”

“I’ve only ever fu-fucked women, sir.” Now he was really confused. Did Lord-- _Master_ want Belemi to fuck him? “Until Master Ardaen purchased me, that is.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Master’s voice was patient. Too patient? Belemi felt anxious again.

“N-no, well I-I had to, that is--I mean...”

“And did you enjoy _being_ fucked?”

Well. He’d taken an expectant breath to answer, but that question thoroughly stumped him.

In truth, he had, on occasion. He’d never thought much about it. He’d never had much of a choice in thinking about it. There was one fighter who’d been taken with Belemi’s hair. ‘A river of flames,’ he’d sometimes called it. He’d run his fingers through it, holding handfuls as he pinned Belemi against a wall and--

“Some... times.”

After a long sigh and a long stretch of silence, Master spoke again. “I don’t suppose you will remember it, Belemi, but I won you once. I had you, as well. It was at one of Ardaen’s private events. You were new and I was drunk with the success of a new appointment. Couldn’t have had more than eighteen years on you. I’d just been appointed to the Head Council and was celebrating. They talked me into betting on you. You looked so fierce. Your hair... When you lost, I jumped at the chance to make you mine. My hair was still black then, you wouldn’t remember.”

Belemi bit his lip. He’d barely stopped himself from asking when his hair changed and why. He blinked. How much wine had they had? Master’s eyes weren’t even open. His hands moved as he spoke, pointing and gesturing.

“I begged Konuz for you. We had an agreement, but my wife intervened. Said I had to think of our children, that we couldn’t have a savage in our home. It’s funny if you think about it. I went back to Ardaen but he refused all my offers. I have no idea what she had on him, but he refused to sell you.”

Lord Davia--dear gods, it was like Belemi had no training whatsoever! Master, master, _master_.

Master sounded bereft.

“I’m sorry, Master.” Something was in that wine. Belemi felt liquid and soft.

His eyes opened and he rose to look smiling at Belemi. He sat up. “I have you now, don’t I?”

Belemi smiled back and nodded.

Davia reached up to run the back of his fingers along Belemi’s wrist. “No one to intervene save for my wicked little children. They tell me you served them breakfast in bed?”

Belemi nodded. “I was, well, no one else told me what to do, so...”

“So Len took charge.” He shook his head. “Come here, Belemi.”

Belemi rose and sat, as indicated, beside his Master. Master held out his hand and grasped Belemi’s forearm. It was a polite, nobleman’s shake.

“Sir?”

“My name is Khamadiya ar-Zam ban Qadar, Lord of Davia. I’ve been waiting a long time to have you.” He reached out to run his thumb over Belemi’s left eyebrow. “Call me Khamad.” He pronounced his name with a heavy scuffing sound. It wasn’t a very Tilban sounding name. Belemi was certain he was Koravian. He looked it.

“I am Belemi Morovna. Call me as you wish, Master.”

Khamad smiled. “Nameless? You’ll have a name soon enough. My children like you, Belemi.”

Belemi nodded. How many slaves had he had to know the meaning of Morovna?

“You’ve noticed their lack of a mother?”

“Yes sir, I heard.”

“It was a political marriage. Though you wouldn’t know from the number of children we have, we don’t like each other very much. We tired of pretending, so I returned to my home and my children came with me. She prefers to be in the capital, in the thick of royal life. I did try courting, but my children were unhappy with my choices. I can’t choose a woman they like, but it seems I’ve found a man. You are good for them and it pleases me to hear them laughing.”

Belemi nodded again. Had Khamad really won him in a fight? Surely he’d remember it. He hadn’t lost _that_ many fights. Well, perhaps he had, but he hadn’t been called out of the ring to pay losses that often. Well, most of the fighters were larger men. Some had even fought in real fights before the king. They felt it was their win. And too often, the crowd made the northerner pay his losses on his knees.

Belemi looked around the garden. It wouldn’t do to think on those days. Perhaps they were over entirely. Still. He looked at Khamad again.

I’d have remembered you. Wouldn’t I?

Khamad seemed steady, but his steps were effusive and careful.

“Let’s retire to my room, Belemi. I need rest. And don’t worry,” he added. “I’ve waited a long time. I don’t intend to force anything from you.”

 

:: :: ::

 

Belmi woke to Len poking him with her fishing stick. She had three fair sized fish tied up and over her shoulder.

“Wake up sleepy babies.”

Belemi looked around. Civia was curled up beside him, her head on his leg. She’d been drooling. Malin was draped over his knees, also fast asleep. Belemi blinked sleepily at Len and rubbed his eyes.

“I am the only one that gets anything done,” she said. “It’s past lunch hour, come on.”

Civia stirred and Belemi got her and Malin upright and they all trudged back, following Len in silence, Civia riding on his shoulders.

In the kitchen, they learned that Master was back, but resting. Belemi retired to his room, tempted to go back to sleep, but wary of pondering the past any more. He stared at his bed.

He still remembered that first morning in Master’s bed--had it really been a year?--he’d woken with Len standing over him.

“You aren’t bringing us breakfast anymore are you?” Ever the little mistress, Len stood with her hands on her hips and glared.

He couldn’t help indulge her, and poke a little fun. “I’ve been informed of new duties, Mistress, but, perhaps from time to time I can indulge you.” Len thought for a moment, figuring that he’d conceded, and then nodded.

Civia, however, saw through him easily. Before Khamad had awoken, she peered at him, before leaning down to whisper, “Why are you in Daddy’s bed? Did you get scared?” She tilted her head at him and looked concerned.

He’d laughed at the idea and tickled her in response.

The truth was that he was indeed scared. And more so now than then. So much had changed and it scared him. The serenity, the happiness, and the assumption that it would continue. Circumstances could change in an instant. He knew that too well to have forgot so easily. It was something Scoil had reminded him of constantly, and before that, Ardaen.

_“I had a buyer for you, Morovna, but the men said you sucked cock too well, and begged me not to sell you. So, you stay, and tonight we’ll have a celebration of sorts.”_

No, he wasn’t going to sleep and think on those days. Belemi left his room and went in search of something to better occupy his mind.

 

:: :: ::

 

Belemi woke, opening his eyes to a tiny foot a mere inch from his nose. The children were piled in the bed with them: Malin upside down in between them, Civia draped over his back and Len curled in her father’s place. All three slept blissfully.

Civia shifted restlessly and he let himself drift off again.

Hours later he woke to Khamad’s warm hands on his back. It was mid-morning to judge by the light coming in the window.

“The children--” He broke off with a low hum as Khamad worked his thumbs in circles into the muscles of his lower back.

“Are with their tutor. You are mine this morning.” Khamad sounded almost triumphant. He moved closer, leaning on Belemi’s back, one leg hooking over Belemi’s. He was warm and naked and hard.

Belemi turned to face him. Khamad pushed his hair back and held Belemi’s face with both hands. Their legs were tangled, bodies close, and Belemi told himself it was foolish to trust this. Khamad kissed him, something that would never lose its novelty.

“I’m so lucky to have found you,” he whispered.

“I think, _Master_ ,” Belemi said pointedly, “that I am the lucky one here. I hope I--” Well that would be a foolish confession wouldn’t it?

Khamad nuzzled his ear. “You know, next year I can apply for your citizenship.”

Belemi stared at him. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“Wh-why would you do that?” If Khamad set him free, he’d be doomed.

Khamad reared back to give him an odd look. “That’s why I bought you. Think about it.” Khamad leaned forward, his face in Belemi’s neck and kissed him again, pushing. Belemi rolled backwards. He let his arm move around Khamad’s back, his leg pushing between Khamad’s. His cock was hard. Khamad trailed one hand down Belemi’s chest to take him in hand. He kissed circles, licking and sucking around his jaw and neck, skipping teasingly over his mouth, as he worked his cock slowly, torturously.

Belemi could come from the slightest of touches and Khamad knew this. When in a rush to leave for the city, he often took advantage, pressing Belemi against a wall to rut against him. A kiss, even a bite on his neck could send Belemi over the edge.

Once, at a dinner he’d pressed his foot between Belemi’s knees and worked his cock under the table, while they dined with the city’s mayor and two members of the king’s representative council, Khamad had slowly jacked him to completion. He’d cried out and everyone stared at him.

“I had no idea your paramour had such feelings on taxation, Davia.”

Right now he was close to the same, and not because of haste, but because of Khamad’s sure touch. He panted and Khamad leaned into to kiss his collarbone and grazed his teeth along Belemi’s sensitive skin. He bit.

Belemi opened his mouth to cry out, but Khamad caught him in a kiss before he could, his tongue intense, his grip soul-wrenching. He whimpered into Khamad’s kiss, twitching, spilling into Khamad’s grip.

“I wanted to suck you, but I couldn’t stop,” he whispered against Belemi’s lips.

Belemi shivered at the words and squirmed from Khamad’s touch. He rose, intending to return the favour, when Khamad shook his head and drew him close again.

“We’ve all day, there’s no need to rush. I’ll have you, you’ll have me, we’ll wear ourselves out with having.”

Belemi smiled and untangled enough to slide himself down Khamad’s body anyway. He held Khamad’s thighs and let his mouth brush against his cock. “When you put it like that, I _want_ to rush.” With that, he let Khamad’s cock fill his mouth.

As he sucked, he thought about how he’d like Khamad later. On his knees probably. As for himself, he planned to ride Khamad like horse. It was the only way he’d come with a man’s cock in his ass. And just thinking of it made him hard. He closed his eyes.

Today was a good day. He wasn’t going to ruin it by thinking of citizenship, freedom, or the future.

 

:: :: ::

 

Belemi woke. As usual, the children had snuck into their father’s bed at some point in the night. He felt Khamad’s warmth behind him, so Len and Malin were probably snuggled next to or on top of their father. Civia was curled up beside him tonight, facing him. Her tiny arms were curled under her head and she was wide awake, staring at him, teeth biting at her bottom lip.

“Are you awake,” she breathed out quietly and he nodded. “Me too,” she said and grinned. “Daddy said we’re eating breakfast together today.”

“We are.”

“But then you’re going away.”

Belemi smiled and reached out to pet her head reassuringly. “We won’t be gone long. It’s just to the city for a few days.” He realised it would be the first time he’d left them.

“Are you coming back? With Daddy?”

“Of course I am.” Civia looked doubtful, so he added, “This is my home.”

Civia’s expression wavered in that way children’s do just before they start crying. “Len said that Vallen said that Majji said that Daddy said you were going to become a ciziten under his pad-paderage, and that you would leave us, to be free and, and go away.” Her lisp plus her confused words and hearsay all combined to bring tears to her eyes. Her lip trembled and Belemi was petrified that she’d start wailing.

“And--I--I--d-don’t--want--you--to--g-go,” she hiccupped.

He let his hand curve around the back of her head petting her gently. “Shh, there, there Civ. It’s ‘cit-i-zen’ and ‘patron-age.’ Your father wants to sponsor me so I can be a free person like you.”

“But you are!” Her emotions made her loud and he worried she’d wake the bed, so he reached out and drew her close.

“No, little bird, I’m not. I’m a northerner and I was sold of my birthright, so I’m a slave and your father owns me.” Was that too much for the child? She hadn’t quite five years on her. “Some people don’t think I should be allowed to be called a Tilban.” Of course, those same people were responsible for him being a slave in the first place. The reason he spoke, thought, and acted Tilban. The reason he had nightmares, the reason he didn’t know his parents, and the reason he was still terrified that this wasn’t even going to happen.

The Tilban were as fond of conquering and claiming and pillaging and plundering as their demonised former enemies, Belemi thought to himself. Your people, he could have told Civia, take slaves too. At least in Kor, slaves could gain their freedom. Stay in Kor, and you became one of them. Tilban slaves faced a struggle to even be recognised as citizens, let alone gain freedom.

In Tilba, there were very few _former_ slaves. Soon he would add himself to that small class.

“What’s a birthright?” She lisped over the word and Belemi couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s who I am, that’s all.”

“You’re Bel,” she said, not without defiance.

“Indeed I am,” he conceded.

Civia bit her lip again and made a face. She was obviously thinking hard. “Does Daddy own you like the horses?”

That sobered him a little. “Yes, he does.” Len might be a smart girl, but Civia was the one they would have to watch out for.

“Who owned you before Daddy?”

Belemi shifted, letting his head fall back on the pillow. Such an innocent question. He wasn’t sure how to answer.

“A nice lady used to own me.”

“Did she bite you too?”

Startled, he turned to look at her, right as he heard Khamad’s strangled “What?” from beside him.

Civia looked entirely too innocent. She pointed at Belemi’s neck. “Why did Papa bite you, Bel? Can I bite you?”

Khamad reached over Belemi to tweak her ear. “Oh, sweetheart. No, you cannot bite Belemi. That’s for fathers and...” He trailed off uncertainly and looked to Belemi for help.

“Fathers and what?” Belemi asked innocently. Civia tilted her head mimicking his expression.

“Fathers and _northerners_ ,” Khamad said, ignoring Belemi and patting his daughter. “Tickling, on the other hand, is for little girls who ask too many questions!” Even Civia’s expectant look didn’t stop her delighted screams as he began tickling her under her arms. She tried to squirm away, but Belemi kept her in place even as he reached to tickle under Khamad’s arm.

Khamad jerked away from him, and Len joined in, letting out peals of laughter as she and Malindar pounced on their father. Khamad let himself be wrestled down, the three children laughing in delight at his defeat. Belemi held him down as Len chanted.

“Tickle under his chin! And his knees!” She bounced as she directed Civia and Malin.

Suddenly the doors slammed open and two servants scrambled into the room.

“Sir! We heard screams and--"

Belemi looked up and froze. He sat shirtless over Khamad, holding his arms over his head for Civia and Malin. They continued to tickle him--mercilessly. Belemi reached out to still them. There was a slight wobble on the bed as Len steadied herself.

After a moment of silence, the head servant cleared his throat and looked away. “Everything’s all right then, sir?” He couldn’t seem to meet Khamad’s gaze or Belemi’s. The servant behind him, however, gawked at the scene, eyes wide as he looked from Belemi to Khamad.

“Yes, thank you. Everything is fine.”

The servants slunk out and they all relaxed, dropping into place on the bed, like a pile of worn out puppies, laughing and panting. Khamad gripped his hand and smiled.

If that’s what family felt like, Belemi was ready.

 

:: :: ::

 

There was a piece of parchment in his purse and he was so aware of it, it was like a lit torch burning in a dark room. Though he still didn’t know who his people were--other than his mother’s name, he didn’t even know who she had been or where she even was, but he knew who he was.

“My name is Belemi Davia and I’m a free citizen of Tilba.”

“A pleasure, Lord Davia. Will you join me for wine?”

Belemi jumped as Khamad’s arm snuck around him. Belemi twisted in his arms. “I wasn’t--I was just practicing,” he said, as Khamad leaned in to kiss him. He wound his arms around Belemi and Belemi let Khamad kiss him. After a moment they were both silent and still.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know.” Khamad’s words were careful.

Belemi thought for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He wanted to stay. Didn’t he? Something told him that Khamad would send him anywhere he desired, would finance any step Belemi chose to take.

“Where would I go?” he finally asked.

Khamad shrugged, arms still around him, and shook his head. “Wherever you desire. I won’t--I can’t keep you anymore.” He laughed, a low chuckle that Belemi felt more than heard. “I don’t own you, Belemi. I want you to--to be where you wish.”

Belemi nodded and they were silent once more. The tension in Khamad’s body belied the calmness of his words.

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to properly allay Khamad’s fears. There was no leaving. Belemi hadn’t grown up on fairy tales as the children had. He wasn’t going to be a warrior when he grew up, or a queen, or a famous singer. There were no knights, no dragons, and no captured princesses. If anything, he’d been the princess and Khamad was the closest thing he had to a knight.

He didn’t want to leave that.

Somehow, in owning him, Khamad had managed to take possession of his heart and his hopes. Perhaps he’d managed to turn into the same. Belemi couldn’t leave now, anymore than he could have before.

“When we get home, I think the children should bring me breakfast in bed.”

Belemi smiled as Khamad’s arms tightened and his laughter reverberated through them.

“Whatever you desire, Lord Davia.”

 

 

-fin-  



End file.
